The Power of Image
by PercySnail
Summary: A glimpse into their time together prior to Day 5; and between Day 5 and Day 6. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

This is, of course, not the first time he has met her. While the word frequent may have been a stretch, her visits to David Palmer during his time as President had accustomed Aaron to her.

No, it's not the first time he's met her; nor is it the first time he's talked to her. They've exchanged warm greetings before; enough so that Martha knows about his son, and he knows enough to ask about the horses she's rehabbing. They are not overly familiar, but they come naturally, these moments between them. Aaron admires her confidence; the ability she has to walk into the room with grace and ease. She notes his stoicism; his quiet observance.

David, of course, prizes them both – as friends, even.

So, when the time comes to officially take over the protective detail for Charles Logan, they greet each other happily. His introduction to President Logan goes as it should. A stiff greeting, a nod on Aaron's part, and a "thank you for this service." When Aaron moves past the President, Martha surprises him.

"Aaron!" The exclamation is happy, the smile genuine as she meets his eyes. She ignores the extended hand, pulling him in for a hug. "I'm – we're – we're so glad you stayed on. It will be nice to have a familiar face here with us."

He is so rarely flustered; his job has prepared him for every situation, but now, here, he feels the flush creep up his neck. He internally thanks the high collar of the suit for masking it, before pulling back and meeting her gaze again. "Of course, ma'am." He says it calmly, in his usual reserved tone, but he can't resist breaking for a moment, with a grin aimed her way, before he steps back and behind the President.

It will be nice, he thinks, to already know the First Lady.

His job, of course, means that he doesn't directly protect the President at all times. Being The Special Agent in Charge of the Presidential Protective Division takes him away from direct contact at times – he is in charge of planning far ahead. He plans the agents that will protect Logan; the agents that will protect Martha at all times.

He is often able to be a part of the actual protective detail; preferring to be both in charge, and on duty. In particular, he tries to be at all events; and their first large event out of the White House is no exception. He has assigned himself to the President, and Jacobs as first in line to the First Lady. They are an hour out when he hears the news in his ear.

"Sir, Jacobs is –" The agent pauses, clearing his throat.

"What is it, Stevens.?" Aaron barks the question into the device on his wrist, his annoyance evident. This is the first series of outside events in this Presidency, and he doesn't have time for any chit chat.

"Jacobs is green, sir. Or, I should say. Jacobs can't stop throwing up. He's in the bathroom now, again. "

Aaron curses underneath his breath, already moving towards her dressing room. His mind races, drilling through agents' names and assignments as he mentally shuffles people around. In the short walk, his plan is formed.

His gruff voice gives the command to the young agent. "Jacobs, go home." When Jacobs begins to protest, his response is swift. "What use are you tonight, Jacobs? Go home. We'll deal with this in the morning." He is being harsh, he knows; in the light of morning, he will be more sympathetic, but now, his stress is high. Aaron is aware that Jacobs is a good agent, who would have stuck it out, had Stevens not ratted him out. He watches Jacobs slink down the hallway while he lifts his wrist to his mouth.

"Ruiz, please report." He motions towards Stevens, gesturing for the agent to come over. "We're changing assignments. You'll be primary on the President, running with Ruiz. Brown will be your immediate backup."

"I guess I'll run alone as primary for the First Lady." Stevens starts to question him, his mouth opening before Aaron quickly interrupts.

"You two have the experience, and can be the immediates. If I stay with Mrs. Logan, I can take in the whole picture better, and alert you to any changes that need made at the last minute."

Stevens nods, reassured, and Aaron repeats the commands into his wrist piece.

By the time the President emerges, Ruiz and Brown have shown up, and Aaron has finished shuffling the agents. He quickly informs the Commander in Chief of the changes, while Charles apologizes to him.

"It's – it's Martha. She's in there, fussing over her hair, her makeup. She'll be out, I'm sure, eventually but I can't sit around and wait much longer." Aaron nods, letting the man ramble on as he walks away; agents in tow.

Five minutes pass, then ten, and he silently stands, checking his watch periodically while the agents update him on POTUS' moves.

Martha rushes out of the room, flustered, aide rushing behind her, as she slips on the heels.

"Oh, Aaron – oh god, thank god it's you." She grabs at his arm, steadying herself as she finishes placing the shoe on. "I'm so sorry, I'm just so nervous about all of this," she says, brushing herself as she stands back up. "I'm such a mess, and everyone will be watching, and…"

Martha trails off, shaking her head. "I'm babbling, Aaron, I'm sorry."

"It's no problem, ma'am." He tries to move, attempting to urge her forward, but she grabs his elbow.

"Does this look, I mean, does it look okay, Aaron?" When he looks up, he is struck, then, by the vulnerable look on her face. Her eyebrows are furrowed, shoulders slumped – a look he has never seen before. She is usually so sure, so confident, and this…this is different. She looks scared.

Aaron knows he shouldn't; knows that he should just nod, give a simple yes, and move on – with any other FLOTUS, he would have done exactly that. But all he wants to do in this moment is return her to the happy Martha he has come to enjoy.

When he looks back, much much later, he'll wonder if this is the moment that changed everything.

Aaron's face changes into an uncharacteristic grin. He can't quite believe the words that come out of his mouth as his hand floats to the small of her back, pressing her forward lightly, as his casual drawl comes out.

"Ma'am, you look great."


	2. Chapter 2

It is, without a doubt, when she is most relaxed that he sees her façade begin to lower. Although he appreciates the confident and strong-spoken woman she is to the outside world; he enjoys being assigned to her the most when she is at play – away from the DC life, the White House, all the trappings of formality.

Not, as he reminds himself – frequently in those days – that his job is about enjoying either the First Lady, or her husband. His job is about serving the office by protecting them – both of them. A diatribe he repeats internally every time he assigns himself to her detail.

Still though, he admits inwardly, that a part of him is happy that the First Couple will be taking a brief vacation to their East Coast ranch. He is honest enough to himself (and only himself) to know that he is less concerned about the President's need for a break (he chases away the thoughts of how Logan's staff seem to carry the heavy load for him frequently) than the need for Mrs. Logan to have a chance to enjoy some time away.

He's undoubtedly grateful for the fact that as soon as Martha had found out his son was stationed less than 2 hours away (a slip of the tongue on his part, as they'd been waiting for Charles to come out of a meeting on Air Force One – she was almost irritatingly able to get him to talk; even in the meager amounts he did) she'd insisted on bringing extra coverage so Aaron could take a two day break. She'd used her skills in persuading Charles to make him think it was his own idea, and had silently beamed behind her husband when he'd told Aaron that he felt it would be unpatriotic if he didn't insist Aaron visit his enlisted son.

When he returns to the ranch, energy raised from the pride at seeing the life and career that Josh had built for himself; he is somewhat surprised however, that his first inclination is to find and thank the First Lady. An inclination he is smart enough to push aside and dismiss as he dons his suit and wireless pieces; as he reports to duty to screen that night's dinner party guests.

Martha, of course, spots him, and grins his way as the party begins. He nods back, fighting the urge to smile, and reminds himself to continue to scan the room. He is grateful; yes, but he is on duty, and has a job to perform. A job he takes more seriously than anything else. As the night precedes, he surveys the couple. They mingle, and schmooze, and she is poised smiles, elegance at it's best.

The night wears on, dinner served to the elite group of local dignitaries, then dessert, and she surprises him afterwards, when she catches his eye, motioning quickly with her head. As the guests move to the outside patio for drinks, he obeys the summons she's giving.

"Agent Pierce," she says (a departure from the normal 'Aaron'), "I have to step out and grab a s- grab something. Can you accompany me?"

"Ma'am, Stevens is assigned to you ton-"

"No, Aaron – I'd prefer you help me with this." Her voice drops – a hint of steel in her tone – but he catches her eye, and sees a glint of something there. A lightness, a spark – an indication that although she is demanding this of him, she is not as serious as her tone alludes to.

Unfortunately, for Aaron, he finds it impossible to form another excuse – not here, not now – when the scene is protected, the party overstaffed with agents – and he has no real rationalization to fall back on.

So, he does what comes naturally. He shoots a steely and serious look back at her as he lifts his wrist up. His tone is sober, as always, and his eyes betray nothing of the light mood that he's in. He is, as always, the ever staid Agent Aaron Pierce.

"Stevens, please shift your detail ASAP to my current status for the foreseeable future. Zenyatta needs accompaniment and I'm closest."

Martha moves towards the door, unnoticed by her husband – who currently seems more interested in a potential contractor's spiel then the whereabouts of his wife. As they hit the humid summer air, she makes a sharp turn left; his intrigue heightened as they move towards what he assumes is their target – the large and vacant stables.

She opens the door, and Aaron steps in front of her fast, blocking her entry. "Ma'am – if you could allow me to scan the area," he commands; leaving off the "at least" he wants to add to the directive.

He can't see it, of course, but he can almost feel the roll of her eyes. "Oh, of course, Agent Pierce. Safety first."

Aaron scans the area quickly, then motions her inside. Martha slides past the side stable door, shutting it fast.

"Thank god. Alone at last," she says, her tone light; and damn if his traitorous eyes don't widen in shock. Martha laughs then – loudly – rich and true, genuine (not the controlled titter she displayed in the party – at the expression on his face.

"Oh relax, Aaron," she mutters as she reaches in her small clutch as she continues to laugh.

"I'm not planning on taking advantage of you," she teases him, bumping him with her shoulder. He watches as she pulls out a lighter, then digs deeper in the small space.

"Ah – yes, here it is. I knew I had one buried in this bag." She brandishes the cigarette with glee, and Aaron wonders if she notices the sigh of relief he tries to conceal. A smoke break is easy; nothing to worry about – nothing he'll need to make excuses to himself or others later over.

He knows he should say nothing; that he should just nod and stand silently but she – and this moment – relax him beyond that professional mask and he finds himself speaking.

"I wasn't aware you still smoked, ma'am." His tone is professional, but warm as he continues. "Your dossier said you quit three years ago."

She laughs again, one sharp bark. "That's what I told Charles too." She continues to smoke as she goes on. "Truth be told, I haven't had one since he took office – I can't get any goddamned privacy with your team."

Aaron maintains his stoic look. "I apologize ma'am. I'll command the agents to be less diligent so you can continue with this bad – this habit of yours."

He doesn't break, and Martha continues to egg him on, jesting lightly. "It's amazing you all don't follow me in to the bathroom." Her inflection is droll, her typical sarcasm lacing her words.

"No ma'am," he replies, surprising her with a grin. "That's what the cameras are for."

Aaron delights in the horrified expression that crosses her face during the split second it takes for her to realize it is a tease. At that point, they both begin to laugh, her cigarette forgotten. Aaron catches himself fast, stopping almost as soon as he has started, but allows the relaxed smile to linger as she continues.

"Thank you, Agent Pierce," she winks at him. "I needed that laugh."

He doesn't do anything more than nod solemnly in her direction; his professionalism back in an instant – but that night, alone in his quarters, he reflects quietly on how deeply gratified he was to see her mask fall for a moment.

And that reflection is the first time he realizes the precarious situation he may be in.


	3. Chapter 3

It is the flight to Vermont where he makes his final decision. Inside the luxurious Gulfstream, pointed north, Aaron has the time and space to reflect. It is just him and other agents – the President has begged off from this task. As Aaron glances out the window, he knows what he will do. He will stay. Even if the President has made it almost impossible for him to do so.

* * *

The loss of respect is what he struggles with the most. He has served 4 sitting Presidents now; and even when he disagreed with them – politically, personally, whatever – he has never lost respect for those men and women. They may not always make the best decisions; but all of them had made decisions with authority. All had treated their staff with respect. And he had always felt that every single one of them had been able to lead the country.

That is not the case, now.

He knows he will never lose respect for the office – his sense of patriotism was born into him; a genetic trait bred into the Pierce family through years of service to their country. No, he will always respect the office, the ideals that go with it. He will gladly lay down his life to save the President; because he respects the office so much; and it is his job to do so.

But the man? He does not respect the man.

By three months into Charles Logan's presidency, Aaron Pierce has made peace with this. It had been gradual, at first. He is supposed to be Secret Service – silently observing the interactions in front of him and not having an opinion – but he is only human, after all. And while he may never comment on those opinions, never even admit that he has them to anyone, he does.

There are two opinions that become crystal clear in time: one – that Charles Logan is unable to make a decision for himself; and two – that Charles Logan, despite how senseless he has seemed in those aforementioned moments, was actually as sharp as a tack at manipulating his wife.

The first one is obvious to just about any of his staff, Aaron is sure. Anyone that watches the President attempt to make a decision will see that it is clear he is incapable of doing so. When there had been a potential attack on their base in the Ukraine, Aaron had watched Charles Logan attempt to weasel his staff into making the choices for him – despite their protests.

"Mike, Mike – you're the foreign policy expert in the room, what do you think I should do?"

Mike Novick had raised his eyebrows, catching Walt's eye briefly before he responded.

"Sir, with all due respect, it doesn't matter what I think you should do. We've outlined the best choices for you. You need to make a decision to pull them out, or keep them in there for the next week and face heavy attack."

Charles had instantly become frustrated, pouting as he had spun on his heel and paced the room. "I can't do this myself, Mike. That's why you're my advisor."

Walt had cleared his throat, spurring Aaron to subtly shift his gaze towards him.

"Sir, it's not up to Mike, or me – or anyone else. You have to decide."

They had gone in this manner for another ten minutes; Aaron watching the whole time and trying to temper the mounting disgust he felt for the man with the respect he felt for the job he held. In the end, Mike had made the choice, and the attack had fallen through when the word spread that the troops at the base would not retreat. Aaron hadn't forgotten that night though; and quickly noticed this pattern was present with almost any big decision Charles Logan had to make.

He managed to push past it, however. Aaron was a man of duty, and honor, and he pushed past it in his own way. He considered, briefly, leaving the service, but as he considered it, he realized that other agents must have felt this way before, and had stayed. It wasn't their job to just protect the President. It was their job to protect the President, in order to ensure the country continued to run. And Aaron did love his country.

That decision had been easy – the decision to stay, despite his shortcomings as a leader, had been much easier than the decision to stay after Aaron had seen the skillfulness Charles Logan used in order to manipulate his wife into thinking she was less than him; into convincing herself she was wrong, and finally, into thinking that she was crazy.

Aaron was aware, from the beginning, that at times, Martha Logan struggled with her depression and anxiety. He'd read her files, knew the ins and outs, and knew what to look for should he need to intervene. He'd heard David Palmer speak of it briefly, once, in passing to his own (at the time) wife. Aaron had seen hints of it at times – those days she didn't leave the room after a distasteful article had been written about her. The shrillness in her tone as she'd re-emerged, unable to right her emotions when she'd tried to address the staff. He'd known, and he'd stayed silent. It wasn't his business – it truly wasn't. He was there to protect her husband, and her at times. Despite their more familiar relationship, that bordered on friendliness, at times, it truly wasn't his place to ponder her mental health, and he tried, dutifully, to push the considerations out of his mind.

Until he'd overheard the conversation between the President and Walt Cummings, and the disaster that had come after.

"Don't patronize me, Walt. What the hell is going on with my wife?" The President had hissed the question at Cummings, as Aaron had approached, relieving the agent on duty.

"Mr. President, it's – she's angry, again. She thinks you've locked her out of this thing with the Egyptians, and she's on a rampage." Walt had taken a deep breath at the end his statement, bracing himself for Logan's response.

Aaron stayed silent, eyes on the window behind the men, trying to tune out the specifics of the conversation. He'd been there, just last night, positioned right outside the corner of the Cumming's office. He'd been there, and he'd heard the President insist that Walt not breath a word of it to the First Lady, despite the questions she'd been asking.

"She's – GOD DAMN IT WALT – what's she doing?"

Walt hesitated before responding in a quick fashion. "She's telling anyone that comes in that we're going to go after them, she's sure of it, and that she knows it has to be true, because you won't confirm or deny it. Sir, she's scaring the staff, and she's – well she's giving away information she has no right to be."

"What in the hell, Walt?" Charles voice rose, the whine becoming more prevalent as he spun towards his Chief of Staff. "She can't even know – how the hell does she even know?"

Walt didn't respond, smartly, as the man continued to unravel.

"I had to lock her out of this, Walt." His voice was pleading now, as though he was trying to convince even himself. "She can't know, she's so sensitive about anything that Palmer touched, and she knows this will undo the work he did there."

Walt cleared his throat loudly, attempting to catch the President before he continued. "Sir, do you think that it might be worth it to include her," he paused as Charles' eyes widened in shock. "Just to let her know that she's not completely out of touch? It may slow her down in talking to anyone who will listen, if we let her in as much as we can on this."

Charles slammed a palm on the table. "Of course not, Walt. She'll only try non stop to convince me to turn it around, and stop the action." He stood up then, eyes narrowing at his Chief of Staff. "Tell her nothing."

Walt had left then, brushing past Aaron on his way out of the door. Aaron had continued his shift then, had stood at attention for the next hour, until, in a blur of pressed linen and subtle perfume, Martha Logan had stampeded past him, into her husband's satellite office on the ranch.

"You can't lock me out of this, Charles. I know –" Aaron couldn't see what was happening, but could hear the rustling as the President had stood. Aaron had swiveled then, turning to his side to ensure that the interaction didn't get out of hand. Her voice was high, angry, and it was, in the end, his job to protect the President.

Charles crossed the room, sticking his head out of the door. "Excuse us, Agent Pierce. Please make sure no one disturbs us. We'll be a few minutes."

The door had closed then, and Aaron hadn't been able to hear the remainder of the conversation. The doors had muffled the conversation, and his inner code of conduct allowed them the discretion they deserved; stepping far enough away from the door to not overhear.

Later, when she'd left, the President had asked Aaron to escort her to her quarters. He'd done so, silently walking behind her. Aaron had heard the sniffles, watched the way she had walked, almost dejectedly, and known that whatever that had occurred behind those doors - whether it was his business or not – had hurt her.

The next morning, she hadn't gotten out of bed again. Her aide told him, in hushed tones, outside of the door to her quarters, that she was lost again. The President had told her that she was wrong; so very wrong – and that once again, her anxiety had led her into an obsession with conspiracy theories. Evelyn had hissed the words to him; telling him that Mrs. Logan had gotten it into her head that the Americans were breaking a treaty with Egypt, and thank god that the President had reassured her that she was wrong, but she was so ashamed now, so ashamed that she'd let her obsessions get a hold of her again; and Aaron had felt a tiny piece of him break for her, at that moment.

No, she was not always the most rational or even-keeled, but that man – the President of the United States, her own husband – had convinced her that she had lost control. He'd lied to her, manipulated her into believing she was wrong - all to cover his own mistakes up, as the issue with Egypt had fallen through, a fleeting concern that had passed when Charles Logan had realized it would tarnish his legacy. He had done so, and this was the result.

Three days later, Martha left for Vermont. It was a quiet affair, and no one outside of those who had to know were aware.

* * *

As the plane touches down, he has come to peace with the fact that he will stay. He will remain loyal to the office, to the President. He will be discreet, and professional, and will do his duty. Ultimately, he knows, if he has to, he will lay down his life for a man he holds no esteem for. It is his job, after all.

He tells himself, as he slides into the passenger's seat of the limousine, that it has nothing to do with her.


End file.
